


call my name (i'll be coming for you)

by paperlesscrown



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Forced Separation, Inspired by Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello's "Señorita", Mild Angst, Smut, Soft Serpent!Jug, Waitress!Betty, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 21:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperlesscrown/pseuds/paperlesscrown
Summary: Hidden in Miami as a waitress under witness protection, Betty is startled to see a familiar face on Table 8 - a face she's not supposed to see.But the draw of Jughead Jones is too powerful. And her longing will prove to be too much to resist.Tonight, the risk is worth it. Tonight, she longs to live.(Inspired by the music video for Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello's "Señorita".)





	call my name (i'll be coming for you)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Ines, Kayla and Fran who encouraged this obsession, and to Jandy and Mel, as always, for being the most amazing cheerleaders and betas.
> 
> Watching [the music video for "Señorita"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pkh8UtuejGw/) would be helpful but not necessary for reading this. Although I do encourage you to watch it anyway!

Miami could not have been further from Riverdale, with its pale, pastel pink skies, sandy beaches and long rows of palm trees. This, Betty thought, was no morbid maple mafia town - here, even the darkness was _neon-lit._

But maybe that was the point. Maybe that’s why the FBI dumped her out here, leaving her with the promise that she’d be safe, and that she could keep up with her college work via coded correspondence. 

“Stay in town, lay low, keep quiet,” the agent had instructed, right before giving her a thick dossier detailing her new identity. Despite the gravity of the situation, Betty smiled to see her new name printed on the front, and officially emblazoned on all the faked documents inside - Elise Pendleton, just as requested. A reminder.

They’d fixed her up with a job, too. There had been no application form necessary at Mia’s, a small diner sitting on a busy intersection close to Hallandale Beach. The manager and cook - a gruff, portly man who tossed her an apron as soon as she walked in - gave her a fair rate and stayed out of her way, not asking any questions. Besides, Betty was a better waitress than all the slackers that had passed through his joint. When good workers came in, ignorance was a small price to pay.

Each day fell into the same routine. She’d wake up, put on her uniform, take the bus and listen to all the lectures she’d missed over her headphones. At Mia’s, she’d write down orders, pour coffee, and make enough small talk with the other waitresses to form new, casual friendships. They liked her - enough to even invite her out to drinks - but she never said yes. She made excuse after excuse not to go, saying that her studies kept her in at night. 

Eventually, they gave up, and their weekend carousing became no more than snippets of idle gossip for Betty. It made her a little lonely to be left out, but she knew that it was a small price to pay. One slip - one hint of her previous identity - could easily endanger her life. 

Or worse, _Jughead’s_.

It had been a year since he’d gone on the run, fleeing Riverdale as Penny Peabody stripped him of his Serpent status and put a sizeable bounty on his head. Fearing for his life, he took a plea deal with the Feds, entered witness protection, and begged for Betty to be taken in, too. They managed to get her out, right in the nick of time: the following morning, the walls of her bedroom were riddled with bullet holes.

They knew that it was only a matter of time before Penny and her cronies could figure out that Betty wasn’t actually dead, and had merely skipped town. “When that happens, there’s no way we could have the two of you in the same town, or even the same _state,_ ” the agent had warned. “Until we build enough of a case to take Penny into custody and slam-dunk a conviction, you’re both to stay put where you’re at, no questions asked.”

And so she did. They both did. She made no contact beyond the obligatory call to check in with the Feds. Meanwhile, every waking moment was spent wondering where Jughead was, holding on to the promise that they’d see each other again as soon as this was all over. She’d cry his name out in her sleep, and even when she was awake, on balmy nights when the loneliness overtook her and her hand would press down on the flush heat between her legs. But there was nothing to be done. 

All there was was the wait. And the agony of longing.

…

“Sorry, Elise, but can you come off your break? We’re getting smashed out here.”

Betty jumped to attention and nodded as she took a few more bites of her lunch. It used to take her a few seconds to respond to her given alias, but after three months, she was beginning to forget her own, actual name. She stood up, closed the psych textbook she was studying, and pulled her hair up into a quick, loose bun.

“These two to number 6, please,” her boss said, pushing two dishes through the pass. Betty picked them up, balancing them perfectly on one arm while grabbing a fresh pot of coffee with her free hand.

The motorbike parked outside - a model she was intimately familiar with, had fixed and ridden and even _made love on_ \- should have alerted her. But there was something else: an electric charge in the air that told her that something was _off_ , an extra beat in the normally monotonous hum of her day. Flustered, she smiled tightly at the family at table six, laid down their plates, then slowly looked up.

A black leather jacket hung over one of the booths. If someone cared to look closely enough, they’d see the small, ragged holes where the old Serpent insignia had been torn off by a vengeful knife. On the table, she saw the steady drumming of long digits, a small ‘B’ tattooed on the ring finger. Her eyes trailed up and traced the familiar groove of hard, lean muscle, and then skated over the torso, which was concealed by a clean white shirt, but otherwise already known by her hands, her mouth, her tongue.

“Just a refill, thanks.” 

If Betty thought that the sight of him was a mirage - some faraway fantasy she had managed to conjure out of need - it was the familiar, clipped drawl of Jughead’s voice ordering a coffee that shook her out of her denial. She stood frozen to the spot as he looked up steadily, pleadingly _,_ at her. As if asking her not to react, not to make a scene and draw attention to themselves. 

How long had it been? She could hardly guess - all her days bled into each other, such was the dull tedium of her days without him. 

He looked _good._ Tanned, she guessed, from constant riding, with his cheekbones a little hollow, but that was to be expected from the stress he was under and the danger he was in. His lips were parted as if poised on a question, or a kiss, or both. She was elated and relieved to see him - to know for sure that he was _safe_ \- but still, nothing could stem the fear that rose like bile within her.

_What the hell is he doing here?_

A distant voice came into sharper focus, calling her out of her momentary stupor. “Hello? _Hello?_ El, girl, did you hear me?”

Betty shook her head to clear the daze. She glanced up at Mary, one of the older waitresses, who was looking at her with an expression of mild concern. “I… I’m sorry, what?”

“Refill over on table eight,” Mary repeated. She smiled conspiratorially. “And hoo, boy. He cute, too. Go on. Get your flirt on, girl.”

Betty’s hand could have shattered the handle, so tight was her grip on the coffee pot. She barely exhaled as she moved slowly and steadily towards Jughead. It took everything in her not to run towards him, to pin him against the booth, slap him, send him back to where he was supposed to be, and then kiss him senseless. 

No words were exchanged. He simply held his cup out, as if they were nothing more than a waitress and a customer waiting for his refill. Their eyes locked for a scintillating second before she looked away, unable to sustain the contact. It hurt her physically to see him after months of nothing. She poured him his coffee as he kept his gaze on her. She was about to walk away when he nudged her foot discreetly, making her turn around.

His voice was quiet, barely a whisper. “What time do you get off?”

She tensed up, but kept her voice low. “Jughead, no.”

“ _What time?”_

Why did he insist on doing this? It only made her ache more. But the need that inflamed her was nothing to the fear that chilled her blood. How long before the local authorities got word that he was in town? How long before all the local motorcycle gangs picked up on the presence of a wayward Serpent son in their midst, with a hundred grand riding on his head? 

“We… we can’t do this,” she said, her voice small but firm, before turning on her heel and walking away. 

She walked shakily into the bathroom, collapsing into a heap on the floor. _I want you alive,_ she thought as leaned her head against the cold porcelain wall. _I want you alive more than I want you._

...

Unlike Pop’s, Mia’s was not a 24-hour diner. Betty stayed back late, counting the hours before she could close up shop and go home. She kept an eye on the bike out the front, despairing every time she saw that it remained there, still parked and untouched. Jughead was nowhere to be seen - he’d left right after finishing his coffee - but he was sure to be close by, refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer.

At the end of Betty’s shift, she and Mary counted out the day’s takings, and she insisted on staying behind to lock up. “I don’t have to get up for the morning shift tomorrow,” she said, pushing the resistant older woman out the door. “It’s okay, I’ll clean up. You go home.”

But she was only biding her time. She knew that Jughead would be waiting out front. Turning off the diner lights, she checked on the bike one last time. It was still there, its polished gleam standing out like a beacon in the night. She retreated slowly, making a show of straightening the tables and drawing down the blinds on each window to try and put him off her scent, before rushing to the back and letting herself out into the cool of the evening.

She’d barely taken two steps out when she heard a familiar voice cutting through the dark. 

“Well. That’s comforting.”

Betty stopped dead in her tracks. She didn’t need to turn around - she knew who it was. Her shoulders sagged, she sighed, and felt the fight go out of her. “What is?”

She heard the scrape of a chair, then slow, steady steps coming right behind her. “This,” he said, the warm force of his breath skimming her neck. “Everything else can fall apart, but... I still know you, Betty Cooper.”

She whirled around to face him. He was close - so close that she could smell him, the startling, intoxicating smell of a thousand memories, and the long miles of the road on his skin. “What… Jug, what are you talking about?”

“Back door escape,” he said. “That’s why I kept my bike out front.” 

Betty shut her eyes. _Amateur mistake._ She should’ve known.

He stepped closer. “I knew you’d avoid it. And me.”

“To keep you _safe,_ Jug,” she retorted.

His jaw clenched. “Safe? Or away from you?”

“Both, and we can’t separate those two, and you _know_ that.”

At last, Jughead had the temerity to look away, running his hands through his hair. Betty sighed in frustration.

“How long?” she asked finally.

“How long what?”

“How long have you been in Miami?”

He rolled his eyes. “God, does that really matter now that--”

“ _How long, Jug?_ ”

He looked down at the ground, then looked back up at her. “Since last night.”

She winced and shut her eyes. She wanted to scream at him. A million thoughts raced through her head - memories of nightmares of his body lying on the road, broken and mangled and beyond recognition, of clean bullet holes piercing his jacket and shirt and… _no._ She refused that train of thought, instead turning her fear into anger. “Last _night_?! You’ve been in town for _twenty-four hours_? Jughead, _what—”_

“Jesus, Betty, I’ve got it covered--”

“Do you know that there are eleven - _eleven -_ motorcycle gangs in this city, and that every single one of them would have heeded the call to--”

“--covering up my tracks, you know I am--”

“--Penny is on the lookout for you, and she won’t stop until--”

Jughead grabbed her by the shoulders. “Look, I just needed to make sure you were safe, okay?!” he said, raising his voice so that it echoing off the walls that fenced in the alleyway. “Fucking hell, do I really need to spell that out for you?”

There it was. Everything that she needed. For months, she’d fantasised about this - about hearing him say the same words he’d vowed to her in the frantic, simmering nights before they were forcibly separated.

It should have been enough. But it just felt hollow. Because she knew - she _knew -_ that they were bound to be torn apart again.

She shook herself free from his grip. “I _am_ safe. But now, _you’re_ not.” Her voice broke as she angrily grasped the front of his shirt. She was dangerously close to crying again, but she swallowed that down. “Leave this town, and keep yourself _alive_ , Jug. Please. I am begging you.”

“And I’m begging the same.” He pushed her hands away and stepped even closer to her, a mere breath away from where she was. Heat emanated from his body, and she felt her heart race. “Let me _live_ , Betty. With you. Even just for tonight.”

His hand gripped her waist and pulled her flush against him. All resistance, all coherent thought disintegrated, and she became nothing more than pure ache and need, existing only in the spaces where he touched her.

“Jughead, just… we can’t--”

“You can’t tell me you’ve been okay,” he said. “ _I_ haven’t. I’m alive, and I’m safe, but goddamn it, I’m not living. _This_ isn’t living, Betty. It’s not living without you.”

She was dumbfounded. Despite herself, despite everything in her resisting, she allowed herself to look up at him. He nudged his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

“I… I’ll leave in the morning, I promise,” he whispered raggedly against her cheek. “But just for one night, baby... let me… let me stay.”

A growing storm of conflicting needs and emotions was swirling within Betty. She always prided herself on being logical and smart. That was what drew them together, after all - their detective work, in that simple life so long ago when they ran the _Blue and Gold_ in high school.

And _yet_. 

If Jughead complimented her rationality, it was also him that awakened needs and passions in her that she didn’t know existed. The way her body _sung_ under his hands, the way it made her softer and stronger all at once… it came back to her now, as his fingers raked the back of her neck, clinging and possessive. 

What were they risking? 

_Everything,_ she thought with a panic. 

But as his lips hovered just within reach, as she decided that she couldn’t hold off any longer - that it would be _her_ who would crash forward and capture his mouth in her own - she wondered what she would give. For this. For just one night of this.

And she kissed him, and in between the escalating intensity of their kiss and the way he swiftly hoisted her up around his waist, she figured it out.

_Everything. Everything._

...

The ride to her apartment was a struggle, and mercifully short. The rumble of Jughead’s Harley beneath her was a familiar sensation, but faced with the urgency of such need, the bike’s constrant thrum - and the warmth of Jughead’s body wedged right between her legs - felt like pure torture. Soon enough, her building came into view, and she dismounted with a sigh of anticipation and relief.

When they came to it, even the door was an agonising barrier.

“W-wait, let me… let me just… get my keys, Jug…” she whispered as she fumbled in her bag. He murmured a soft chuckle against her skin as he stood behind her, then trailed soft, heated kisses along her neck. His hands were making nimble work of her shirt, and by the time she finally opened the door, he had already managed to undo half her buttons. 

Finally, Betty managed to fit the key in, and before she even had time to utter his name, Jughead threw her right up against the door, slamming it with a thud. She cried out - half out of passion, half out of the suddenness of feeling herself bruise a little - but the searing hotness of his mouth soon overtook everything. Registering her cry, however, he pulled away.

“You alright?” he asked, his face full of concern, but his hands spoke urgency, reaching behind her to yank her free of her work apron. 

She gave him an arch look. “We’ve bruised harder than that before, Jug,” she said, pulling him in by the belt loop and unbuttoning his jeans quickly. 

“Bruised, bitten, bled, scratched…” He smirked as he recounted their injuries, but that smugness dissipated as he was finally yanked free, the relief of Betty’s hand warm around his turgid shaft. “ _Christ_. Fuck.”

“God, I’ve wanted this,” she breathed into his mouth, halfway into a kiss.

“‘Want’?” he repeated, shaking his head. “I fucking _need_ you tonight, Betts.”

And with that, his hands seized what remained buttoned of her stiff, white uniform shirt, and tore it open. Greedily, he palmed her breasts, not bothering to take her bra off, pulling the cups down to ravish the two rosy peaks he’d retained a frenzied teenage obsession for. 

Betty threw her head back, aware and overwhelmed by every sensation below her - his rough, lined hands groping and squeezing the pliant flesh. Jughead bent down and she swore out loud, tongue and teeth flickering over her nipple. 

“I missed this,” he rasped.

“Then go harder,” she said between gritted teeth.

Jughead buried his face between her tits, ravenous as he sucked and licked each one, rolling her nipples between nimble fingers. Betty gripped his head in her hands, locking him in place as she panted pure nonsense. “Stay… right there… Jug, yeah, right there, yeah, _my god_ …”

The door behind her was rattling in its hinges, and she was sure that the entire building could hear them, but right then and there, she couldn’t care less. Not now with his mouth hot on her. Not with his hand inching down and grabbing the bare thigh beneath her skirt. Carelessly, he pushed it up until it rested on her waist, and yanked her simple black cotton briefs down.

Had her soul ascended outside of her body, Betty would have seen what a mess they both were: Jughead with his pants halfway towards his knees, white tank top still on - her with her underwear pooled messily around her ankles, her tits spilling out of her bra and still glistening wet from his mouth. She’d rolled her skirt to stay up for better access, and it sat akimbo on her waist. Her legs were bare underneath, pussy exposed and throbbing and pink. Both still had their shoes on.

But somehow, it was perfect. It was raw, swift and filthy, but it was exactly what they both needed.

 _Until after,_ she thought. _Until dawn breaks._

But before she could linger on that thought, he leaned forward, and encased his hard cock between her wet folds - not quite inside, but just. The two of them moaned at the contact. Jughead rubbed himself up and down against her, teasing her entrance, before hitching her against the door.

“Betty, I’m not gonna last too--”

“I don’t _care,_ Jug,” she whined, desperate to feel him. “Just please, let me… _ohh--”_

She cut herself off with a long, drawn-out moan as he lifted her slightly and finally, _finally_ thrust up into her. The two of them gasped in unison, awed by the shape of him sheathed by the shape of her. He grabbed her hair for ballast, pulling roughly. She trailed sharp crimson marks into his shoulders, as tears welled up unexpectedly in her eyes. How did she live without this? How did she live without _him_?

Her body remembered its home. Her hips rocked against his in perfect rhythm as he rutted her desperately against the door, the hinges now banging and rattling and _thank god_ she remembered that her neighbours were away for the weekend. His eyes were locked into hers, and they took her breath away, and she could only imagine that hers, too, were lost in a haze of lust.

Jughead was right - she could feel that he wasn’t going to last very long, and neither was she. Grabbing a hold of her wrists, he pinned them above her head, holding them down with a firm grip. With her hands out of the way, she had the strange sensation of her body being solidified only at the apex of their union, at his fullness slipping in and out of her desperately dripping cunt. He angled himself, and she swooned on her feet as his thrusts hit that soft, inner spot he knew all too well.

She felt the undercurrent of a familiar wave building in her, but more frantic, more turbulent than she’d ever remembered feeling. The violence of her longing propelled it, but the hard, lean perfection of Jughead’s body was driving her insane, too. She was falling, and she needed something to hold onto. 

Betty tried pushing her wrists out of his grip, wanting to touch him somehow, but he slammed them back down on the door, holding her down. For the briefest of moments, Jughead opened his eyes to look questioningly at her, trying to gauge her resistance - did she actually want out, or did she want the _pushback_ , the tangle of power they enjoyed playing and experimenting with in their lovemaking?

“Yeah, hold them there,” she panted. In this moment, she needed oblivion. She needed him to overpower her. 

He drove his fingers deeper into her wrists. “I’ll hold you,” he whispered, with tender brutality, “I’ll hold you when we both fall down.”

Betty’s head tilted back, overwhelmed by the force of her emotions and the orgasm building in her. She cried out as Jughead bit down on her shoulder, hips snapping into hers, faster now as she held on for dear life. Clothes were bunched between their bodies, her breasts jiggling with the fast rhythm of their fucking. The room was thick with the scent of sex, and the balmy air of the Miami night suffused their skin with a fine sheen of sweat. 

Soon, Betty’s pussy grasped helplessly as she teetered towards euphoria. She gasped and moved as Jughead took one hand off her wrists and reached down to thumb her clit, his rhythm relentless as her knees nearly buckled from the pleasure. 

“Hold it back, baby, wait for me— “ 

_Impossible_. She whined loudly. “Jug, I — fuck, please— I can’t —“

His finger hooked against her swollen clit, and her legs started shaking. He was unrepentant. She was dangerously close.

“JUG!” 

“Fucking _hold it,_ baby--”

But her eyes were already rolling back. “ _Ohhhh--”_

“Betty, FUCK!”

The sight of her undone tipped him right over as he followed her into oblivion. Their bodies ascended together, crushed against the creaking door - fire and stars and explosions. Her orgasm hit her like a cosmic wave as she sobbed out her ecstasy, her walls spasming around the white molten heat he was shuddering into her. She was incoherent and wild: he kept thrusting up into her in a mad frenzy, and she could only scream and moan, _yes, yes, fuck yes._

Finally, Jughead stayed taut then jerked one last time into her body, groaning as he felt her wet and tightening all over his cock. It felt like fire, then a flood, then blissful emptiness. 

They stood still, letting the last gasps of pleasure mellow through their bodies. Gently, Jughead released her wrists from above her head, cupping her face before leaning in for a soft, quiet kiss.

“I have to tell you something,” he whispered. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s what I came here to say.”

“What? What is it?”

He sighed into her mouth. Tired and needing and desperate all at once. 

“I love you.”

…

They ended up on her bed. Jughead kept his jeans on but his shirt off, evidently having nothing else to change into. Betty slipped into a fresh tank top, then lay down and snuggled into his side. They lay together in silence, watching the ceiling fan spin lazily above them.

Finally, she spoke up. “Do I _want_ to know how you found me here?”

Behind her, she felt him shake his head. “You won’t like it.”

She sighed. Just as she suspected. “Tell me what it involves at least.”

“A few threats. A lot of bribes. One solid punch.”

Betty shut her eyes. “Jughead, this isn’t--”

“Betty, please, don’t say it,” he said, anticipating her words. “Don’t tell me this wasn’t worth it. Not when it was everything I ever wanted.”

“One night? To put yourself at risk?”

Jughead turned her around to face him. “One night to bring me back to _life_. Alive and living aren’t the same, Betty. You know that.”

Oh, how she did. Bleakly, she thought of the next day that was awaiting her - the dullness of it, the endless agony of waiting and not knowing.

But then she thought of tonight, how its heat and brilliance would tinge the rest of her days here in Miami. She looked at the door, his shirt still lying in a crumpled heap before it, evidence of the night’s revelry. Whatever would happen next, at least _that_ happened. She would remember tonight forever. Maybe he had a point.

Betty turned back to him. “Where are you off to next?”

“I’ll make for Charlotte. The Feds have a safe house there.”

“Long ride.”

“It will be.”

They fell silent again. Betty whispered, “And... if I follow you?”

“No.”

“Even for just—“

“ _No_.”

She sat up angrily. “So, what - you can come here like this, and I can’t even do the same?”

“Betty, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

He sat up, watching her quietly as he smoothed one hair behind her ear. “I’m here, but tomorrow, I won’t be,” he said. “If the danger comes, it’ll chase me down. Not you. The road isn’t safe, my love. I’d rather you stay here.”

“I can ride as fast as you,” she challenged.

“Baby, I know you can,” he replied. “But I’m not letting you figure out whether you could take a beating, too.”

That silenced her. “You’ve... been beaten up?” she asked quietly.

“Would it make it worse if I said yes?”

“It would make it worse if you didn’t tell the _truth_.”

“Then yes, I have taken a beating.”

Betty shut her eyes. Jughead reached for her hand. She raised his knuckles to her lips, wet them with the tears that seeped out of her. 

“Jug, what have we gotten ourselves into?” she muttered. “What the hell are we doing?” 

He drew her close, pulling her into his lap. 

“Surviving,” he said. “We’re surviving this, Betty.”

…

In the morning, she woke him by drawing the blinds open, the soft morning light causing him to blink awake. It was just after sunrise. He had a long ride ahead of him, but she didn’t want him to leave. Not just yet.

“Hey,” he said. “What time is it?”

She leaned against the window. “I don’t want to tell you.” 

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to go.”

Jughead looked at her for a long time. The silence stretched between them, full of things that were too heavy and difficult to say. 

“Come here,” he said.

It was slower this time. None of the rough loving they’d had the night before, frantic and pressed up against the door. They had so little time now - every hour was an hour closer to him being discovered - but he kissed her like they had all the time in the world. She straddled him against the headboard as he peeled her top up and off her. He took his time lavishing her breasts with kisses, working her to a frenzy as she braced herself against the wall behind him. 

She would have cried. She would have cried if she wasn’t already crying out of pleasure - if his head wasn’t buried into the heated core between her legs, lapping up every drop of her honey.

When she came - shaking at the tip of his clever tongue - Jughead crawled over her, covering her with his body before thrusting into her right on the tail end of her orgasm, making her scream as he extended it and fucked her right through each wave. He gave a muffled shout as he came right after, and in the mess and frenzy of it all he seized her lips in a brutal, possessive kiss.

“Shower,” he whispered, right after he gasped his last into her. Betty nodded, her legs tingling as she made her way shakily into the bathroom. 

Underneath the warm water, he gently lathered soap all over her, as if by taking care of her now, he was making up for the days when he couldn’t. Her fingers lingered on the bruises on his ribs, cringing at the green and purple that flowered on his perfect skin. Seeing her distress, he reached down, taking her hand and holding it to his chest. 

“Don’t,” he said. “I’ll be safer this time.”

“You need to be,” she replied. _For me,_ she added silently. 

When they were finished, Betty sat on the edge of the bed, hair still damp, wrapped in a towel, watching him get dressed. _Heartsick_ was one of those words she used to loathe - how melodramatic, how _asinine_ , she always thought. But right now, she understood it fully, feeling her heart clench.

 _Well, no_ , she thought. _My heart is right_ there _._ _Slipping on a jacket with no name and headed for the road._

“Let me come with you,” she pleaded one final time, already knowing the answer.

“Betty, you know why you can’t,” he replied.

She bowed her head and swallowed the growing lump in her throat. Not now. She can cry later. 

Seeing her pain, Jughead sighed and knelt before her. He raised his fist, showing her the finger with the ‘B’ tattoo. “You were with me when I got this,” he said. “Do you remember what I said to you?”

How could she forget? On the Southside of Riverdale, the day after graduation. “Yes.”

“It’s for your name. For ‘Betty’. But what else?”

“Um… beloved,” she said. “Beauty. Belief.”

“Yeah,” he said. “All those things. But one more.”

“What?”

“ _Breath_.” He paused, looking intently at her. “You’re my breath, Betty. Wherever you are, that’s my oxygen. That’s why I’m coming back for you.”

She couldn’t help it - she was crying now, tears blurring her vision. “Promise me.”

“I swear on my life.” He kissed the ‘B’ on his finger before he kissed her. “I don’t plan on dying. Not while you’re in this world. Not while you live. The world’s too good with you in it.”

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love _you,_ ” he said. “I live for you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

…

The waitresses at Mia’s never knew why Elise Pendleton insisted on taking the morning shift everyday. Betty - who briefly forgot her alias after hearing Jughead moan her name several times in her ear that night - tried to waive it off by saying that it freed her up for her studies at night.

“Hell, baby, if you insist,” Mary said, chuckling. “Better you than me. I ain’t gettin’ my ass up at the crack of dawn each day to get this joint up and running.”

Betty, in fact, got up _before_ the crack of dawn. Not that the place needed too much cleaning. She simply wanted a moment to herself. To sit at Table 8, to sip her coffee right where he did. To remember.

_I love you. I live for you. Don’t you ever forget that._

One morning, another co-worker showed up before the diner was open. Betty waved her over, grateful for the company. She poured her some coffee, and they sat together, watching Hallandale Beach come to life in the gathering light of morning.

“You come here every morning?” the girl asked.

“Everyday.”

“Why’s that?”

Betty smiled and shrugged. “A little bit of peace and quiet, I guess.”

“I get it. Miami’s a mess, huh?”

“It’s... growing on me.” Betty hid her blush behind her cup, remembering Jughead’s hands on her body and the rumble of a motorcycle, one balmy night not too long ago.

“Oh, hey,” the girl said, suddenly noticing something. “When’d you get that?”

“What?”

“Your tattoo.”

“Oh.” Betty put her cup down, examining the small, fresh cursive ‘J’ on her ring finger. “A few weeks ago.”

The girl smiled. “J. What’s it stand for?”

“Um… justice,” she replied, thinking of a boy and his bike, the outlaws he outran, the danger he courted as he zigzagged across the country, and the day they both awaited eagerly. “And joy.”

Her eyes glazed over. She looked out through the window. She could almost imagine it, one day soon, not too far away in the future - the gleam of his Harley parked out the front, the ringing of the bell at the door as he walked in, and the way she’d mouth his name before he swept her up into his arms.

 _You’re here,_ she would say, tears obscuring her vision as he’d carry her out and into their freedom.

_Jughead._

**Author's Note:**

> It all started with Shawn Mendes' abs. Nah, I'm kidding (I think). This was a work in progress that brought me back from the brink of mild writers' block, and honestly, I'm eternally grateful. Thank you to the people mentioned above and to YOU, the reader, for being kind enough to hit this up. You're the best.
> 
> There's no doubt in my mind that these two would reunite. One, because Jughead is crafty and smart and would totally find a way to outrun Penny, and two, because in canon, he literally came back from the brink of death just to see her again. Can your OTP ever?
> 
> Details on Witness Protection were based on some general research. Please forgive any mistakes or errors.


End file.
